Black Flame
by Melantha Delmar
Summary: I can't stop thinking about you. Is that love? HB


**Note from Melantha: **This story is told in three parts. A letter. The present. And a day not so very long ago. ...This is one of my favorite pieces of writing ever.

**Black Flame**

"_...and I'm the burning in your soul."_

I can't stop thinking about you.

Is that love?

-----

Hermione read through Blaise's letter for the fifth time in an hour. Harry glanced up from his _Which Witch_ magazine at the sound of her smoothing the edges of the parchment with her fingertips.

"You'll get a paper cut," he warned, amusement dancing in his clear green eyes. She folded the letter up, and stuck it in her Ancient Runes textbook. Harry let his magazine fall into his lap.

"Is that from Ginny?" he asked, indicating the much-read letter and Ron's traveling sister.

"Yes," she replied, much too quickly. Harry noticed and raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her. Hermione cursed herself for teaching him to pay attention to other people's emotions. "No. It's from Blaise Zabini."

"Zabini!" Harry hissed, eyes narrowing. "I thought you were rid of that scum."

Hermione made a vexed sound, low in her throat. Her fingers traced the cover of her book in nervous little circles. "You make him sound as bad as Malfoy," she softly scolded.

"He's worse," Harry sneered. "At least Malfoy's an asshole all the time. Zabini pretends to be something he's not before revealing the true Slytherin he is."

Hermione frowned. Harry gave a derisive snort and went back to his magazine.

-----

Blaise stood ready, wand gripped loosely at his side. Hermione watched as he shrugged his school robes straight and set his mouth into a thin line that reminded her of Ron when he was concentrating on a chess match.

"All right," he said, and his voice was that paradoxical mix of silence and shouting that she'd come to expect out of the Slytherin boy. "You can begin now."

Smiling confidently, she raised her wand and did as he asked. She began with simple hexes, all easily deflected by Blaise, and then moved on to spells of some complexity, each more potentially dangerous than the last. Blaise stepped with them, assertive with his nullifying words. Hermione couldn't stop herself from grinning, the smile spreading across her face as though some invisible artist was painting it on. Her spells moved into the intricate, more obscure ones that no teacher at Hogwarts had taught her. Blaise, she figured, would soon be struggling to keep up.

-----

I know what I told you that night on the stairs. I know I didn't listen to you.

And I'm sorry, too; for everything I put you through, I'm sorry.

-----

"Mrs. Weasley, do you think it's a good idea to give someone a second chance?"

"My goodness, dear, that's a broad question," Mrs. Weasley chuckled. She took a sip of her tea and eyed Hermione over the top of the teacup. "Do you think you could be a little more specific?"

Hermione wished she didn't feel like sighing again. She'd done that too much since school had ended. "I mean, if you think you might be in love with someone, but they did something nearly unforgivable to one of your friends... Should you give them a second chance anyway?" She winced. Rambling was also something she tended to do too much now.

Mrs. Weasley reached across the kitchen table and patted Hermione's hand. "You're seventeen, dear. Everyone thinks they're in love at seventeen."

-----

It became apparent that Blaise knew all of the spells Hermione was using, and, not only that, he also knew the spells to counter them. He danced among their aftereffects, dodging showers of colored sparks, and managed to begin shooting back curses of his own. Before she could comprehend what was happening, Hermione was in the midst of an all-out duel. Each teenager soon became solely concentrated on trying to throw the other off guard with their respective knowledge of arcane spells.

Hermione felt beads of sweat prickle at her temples and slip down the back of her neck. She fought off the distraction, focusing on Blaise's dark, unreadable eyes and the words calmly leaving his mouth.

Without any external sign to warn her, Hermione suddenly saw the focus slip from Blaise's face. An instant later, he let out a bone-chilling cry and staggered backward, clawing at his throat for air. Hermione blinked in disbelief, then came to her senses and performed the counter-spell for the curse she'd just used. Blaise lay panting on the ground and she jogged the short distance to his side, dropping to her knees and staring down into his wide eyes. He was completely unmarked aside from the strange terror in his gaze.

"What's the matter?" she whispered, suddenly aware that Blaise's hand was clutching her forearm, his fingernails digging into the soft skin there. He didn't answer her. Or couldn't. She grasped his fingers in her own, tugging them from their grip on her arm. His hand relaxed and fell to his side.

"I thought I could control this," he said, voice trembling as much as his body was. Hermione shook her head, not understanding. His eyes were clouded, dazed by his fall perhaps, and they stared past her, unseeing. "But I can't."

-----

It's in my blood. You have to understand. They brought me up that way. You've seen Malfoy's parents; you know what they're like.

------

"Why can't you just tell us what's bothering you?" Ron said, exasperated and throwing his hands in the air. Hermione could do nothing but shake her head in response.

"It's Zabini," Harry muttered darkly. Ron's gaze snapped toward his friend. "He's made you think he's your only way out, hasn't he?"

"Out of what, Harry?" Hermione exclaimed, standing up and moving toward the door. "You both ask me what's wrong, and then pretend to already know! What do you want from me?"

"A response would be nice," Ron offered, crossing his arms. "If you only told us, we wouldn't have to pretend."

-----

"You don't see it, do you?" Blaise said later, as she was helping him on his way to the infirmary. "My family's curse, that is," he added at her doubtful look.

"No," she replied truthfully, pausing to let him rest for a moment. He tired so easily, and there were too many flights of stairs up from the dungeons. "I see you, Blaise. Your name weighs you down only because you let it."

"Don't have much choice," he said, closing his eyes and sitting down for a moment. "It's always there, reminding me of who I am."

"Who you are is up to you," Hermione put in earnestly. "Why don't you believe me?"

He opened his eyes, the dark depths startled out of some painful reverie. "I'd like to," he whispered.

-----

Is it love when I hear your words behind everything people say to me? Is it love when those words are slowly driving me insane?

-----

"He wasn't like that, Ginny. He didn't mean to hurt him. Neville was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Ginny nodded and closed up her trunk, her unpacking done. "So, who was the spell aimed at then?" she asked, sitting on the trunk and tugging on the end of her braid. "I mean, from what you've said it couldn't have been intended for you."

"No," Hermione said, shifting in her chair. "It was aimed at himself."

-----

"Blaise, you can't!"

"Hermione?"

"_Crucio_!"

-----

Maybe it doesn't matter. What I did only suffices to show how deeply I'm trapped; I thought you might be able to save me.

Is _that_ love?

-----

"Draco Malfoy."

"Hermione Granger."

"What are you doing out of bed?"

"Contemplating an early death. You?"

"I came to ask you..."

"Yes?"

"Do you think Blaise is..."

"_Yes_?"

"Never mind."

-----

"Madam Pomfrey, is he going to be all right?" Hermione wrung her hands nervously, staring at Neville's pale face; his eyes were shuttered closed for the moment.

"Fortunately, yes," the nurse replied, pouring a small amount of what Hermione knew to be a pain reliever potion into the goblet on the table next to Neville's bed. "He wasn't hit with the full hatred of the intended curse, so he'll recover as soon as he overcomes the shock."

Hermione touched Neville's hand lying on the coverlet of the hospital bed, and turned to Professor Dumbledore. "Blaise never meant to--"

"I understand what happened," Dumbledore said gravely, interrupting her. "But Mr. Zabini has placed himself at the mercy of the Ministry for his offense. And the Longbottom family may not take kindly to... Well. You know enough about Neville's parents."

Hermione nodded slowly, her eyes traveling to the dark shape huddled in the chair on the far side of the room.

-----

Did you mean it when you said you loved _me_?

-----

"Hermione, I don't understand something," Charlie said, probing the newest burn on his arm and grimacing.

"What, Charlie?" Hermione grabbed at the edge of the table to stop her head from reeling. This was the first time she'd related the entire story to someone in one go.

"Why did Blaise need _you_ to test him?"

-----

"Blaise. It wasn't your fault." She touched the shaking boy's shoulder. He turned away from her.

"I thought you understood, Hermione," he said softly. "During our duel, there was only one thought going through my mind. _What if I screw up and let slip some horror of a spell I heard in my childhood?_ And it's just now happened, despite everything you've done for me."

"Blaise, all I've done is talk to you, barring tonight's duel. And all I've discovered is how much of an individual you are. You've been everything to me during these past few weeks. Harry and Ron don't understand half the things you seem to. There's no monster waiting to burst from within your skin, Blaise. You panicked. I don't blame you for that."

"But you think I'm a fool for trying to hurt myself."

"I do, yes."

"I thought you understood."

-----

Because I'm nothing without you, Hermione. You made me everything I am in the time we spent together. I don't know myself anymore. And maybe that's the key.

Maybe that's love.

-----

"I'm leaving."

"You're not going to him, are you?" Harry stood by the door, an obstinate expression on his face. Ron was nearby, looking grim.

"I am. You couldn't understand."

"He betrayed your trust, Hermione," Harry warned. "How can you believe a word he says now?"

She didn't understand it. And she didn't expect anyone else to. "I love him."

-----

Hermione pushed the cloak from her shoulders.

"Blaise," she whispered into the stillness of the room. The orderly at the door shook his head.

"He's far more normal than most of our patients, but he's been awfully strange today. Secretive. Muttering." He tapped his wand thoughtfully on the doorpost. "Anyway, have a nice visit." Hermione nodded and watched him go.

"Blaise," she repeated once the orderly was gone. "I'm here."

The dark-eyed boy lifted his head from his arms. "Hermione," he said hoarsely, struggling to get up from the chair. She went to him and helped him stand. Though still pale with the torment of his recent mental strain, he stood tall and managed a faint smile.

"You're here," he echoed, and his voice took on the quiet loudness she was used to. "And I'm yours."

-----

And if that's love, what else can I say to you?

Come back to me, Hermione. Tell me again who I am.


End file.
